


Your Time Will Come

by cordeliadelayne



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas, Getting Together, M/M, The start of something, dining together, slowly coming in from the cold
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-16
Updated: 2012-12-16
Packaged: 2018-05-27 08:20:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6276784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cordeliadelayne/pseuds/cordeliadelayne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With Voldemort defeated and the world returning to normal, everyone deserves a chance at happiness. Perhaps none more so than Severus Snape.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Time Will Come

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Alisanne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alisanne/gifts).



> Written as a Christmas present for the lovely alisanne who gave the prompt “plum pudding”. Originally posted to Livejournal in 2012.

Snape closed his eyes and let the music drift over him. Muggles were not his favourite people, but he had to admire their ability to make music, not like the caterwauling his wizarding compatriots favoured. Here was real skill, a magic all of its own. He softly snorted to himself, now he was starting to sound like Granger.

He opened his eyes and looked over at the box opposite. Of all the places to run into her and Potter and Weasley, why did it have to be at the Christmas concert at Albert Hall? He wasn't even that fond of Christmas.

He sighed. Well, perhaps he had been once, when he had Dumbledore prodding him to enjoy himself, Minerva to get tipsy over sherry with; he missed that actually, far more than he thought he would. Life at Hogwarts. It had been familiar. It had been home.

And now here he was. Recipient of the Order of Merlin, hailed as the greatest spy the Wizarding World had ever known, asked to speak at public functions – never accepting a single offer, no matter the staggering amount of galleons he was offered - with a deep scar around his neck that he hid with the judicious use of scarves and not much else to show for his efforts. He had a modest house – after selling Spinner's End – and was able to survive by selling his potions by Owl Order and contributing to Potions Weekly, though always under a pseudonym.

And sitting across from his former pupils. Who hadn't yet noticed him. He could slink away, disappear into the dark. He was good at that. But then he'd miss the rest of the concert, and it was one of the few pleasures that he had left.

* * * * *

When it was all over, when tears had been dried (certainly not his) and hands were aching from the amount of clapping they'd been doing Snape waited until he thought the coast was clear before leaving his box. Unfortunately it seemed that the others had had the same idea, and waited until the crowd thinned. Waited until there was no possible way for him to avoid running into them.

“Professor!” Granger said, looking almost happy to see him.

“I'm no longer your teacher, Miss Granger,” Snape replied, trying to side-step between them, but the Potter boy had other ideas.

“You haven't been answering my letters.”

Snape scowled. “I have neither the time nor inclination to engage in conversation with you.”

Snape tried to move again but Potter had planted himself firmly in Snape's way. Out of the corner of his eye Snape could see Weasley and Granger exchanging concerned glances.

“I've been trying to apologise.”

“I believe the Order of Merlin was enough of an apology...” Snape hesitated and then took a deep breath. “Without your testimony I would be in Azkaban. Thank you. Now, if I could just...”

“Have dinner with us,” Potter interrupted. Weasley groaned until Granger stood on his foot.

“Yes, prof – Mr Snape, please do,” Granger added.

Snape thought of his options – he could apparate, he could hex them all to oblivion, or at least perform a memory charm on them – but Potter was looking determined, in a way that reminded Snape very much of his mother.

“I suppose dinner can’t hurt,” he found himself saying.

The look on Ron Weasley's face more than made up for any discomfort Snape imagined the evening would contain.

* * * * * *

Dinner was...surprisingly pleasant. Granger had booked reservations at a Muggle establishment run by a Squib, who hadn't battered an eye on meeting Snape, but had dropped a tray of fish cakes onto the floor. This was becoming par for the course in all of Snape's encounters of late, which was another reason why he didn't often venture out into the world.

But despite the inauspicious start the food had been excellent and the conversation, if not riveting, than at least mildly diverting. Granger and Potter did most of the talking, with Weasley tucking so much food into his mouth in such a short amount of time that Snape was seriously beginning to wonder whether the boy had been locked away without food for the past two months.

Snape decided to forego dessert and made his excuses. He hurried outside, only to be stopped by the Potter boy running after him.

“Prof – Mr Snape? Have you got a moment.”

“Not really,” Snape replied. He kept walking and was unsurprised when Potter kept pace with him. Neither of them said anything – Snape had no idea what Potter was thinking and he was rather hoping he could get to a decent Apparation point before Potter told him.

“Could we – could we talk, sometime?” Potter finally asked.

Snape sighed the sigh of the long-suffering. “We are doing.”

“No,” Potter flushed, before barrelling on, “no I mean alone. Sometime. I'd like to talk to you. Properly.”

What Snape wanted to say was that he had absolutely no interest in prolonging his exposure to Potter, but what actually happened was he agreed to meet Potter the next weekend for lunch.

 

* * * * *

Christmas was not, by and large, Snape's favourite holiday. But then, no holiday truly held that distinction. Not now he was no longer living at Hogwarts at least; his disdain for Dumbledore's excessive cheer was only partly feigned. But he imagined that Potter would appreciate some traditional fare and found himself purchasing a few simple decorations and owling Potter to come to his house in a small Muggle cul-de-sac rather than meet in Hogsmeade as previously arranged. He could at least trust Potter to know how to behave around Muggles.

He woke up on the Saturday unaccountably nervous and almost owled Minerva for advice before regaining control of his senses; he'd never hear the end of it if he did.

Instead he prepared the small Christmas feast, plum pudding in pride of place, and waited.

Potter had clearly learned something at school about punctuality because exactly at the time Snape had stated on his invitation, the doorbell rang. Snape hesitated for a moment – why exactly was this boy, no, young man, causing his heart to beat faster when he had faced down the most evil wizard to ever walk the earth and lived to tell the tale? But then his natural stubbornness reasserted itself and he went to answer the door.

Potter was standing before him, looking nervous and carrying a bottle of firewhiskey.

“I wasn't sure if you’d like it or not,” Potter said, indicating the bottle.

“Of course, “ Snape replied. “Don't just stand there Potter, come in.”

Something in his tone must have made Potter relax because he did as he was asked, and appeared much less nervous than before. Snape was gratified somewhat that he'd had that effect before trying to dismiss the idea; it wouldn’t do to get ahead of himself.

“You shouldn't have gone to all this trouble,” Potter said. He was staring at the table laden with food.

“It was no trouble,” Snape said. “I enjoy cooking.”

Potter looked surprised. “Really?”

“Much less dangerous than serving up potions,” Snape replied. “Unless you're trying to poison someone.”

Potter started to smile and then stopped. “You're not joking.”

“I've never joked in my life,” he replied. Not entirely true, but Potter probably wouldn't appreciate his brand of humour at this point in their...whatever this was.

“Please, take a seat. Tea, or firewhiskey?”

“Um, tea please,” Potter said, sounding completely wrong-footed.

Snape elegantly flicked his wand and the tea things began to make themselves. Potter got that look in his eye whenever he witnessed the ease of another's magic; it was almost as if he was still having trouble believing the power he was able to wield himself. Snape positively did not find it an endearing trait.

“Help yourself,” Snape said, pointing towards the food. When Potter didn't seem inclined to move Snape selected a few choice treats for himself and sat back down on the comfiest chair in the room, facing Potter. Potter shook himself out of whatever trance he had fallen into and piled his plate as high as Snape remembered them all doing at Hogwarts.

“Thanks,” Potter said, remembering just in time to swallow before he spoke.

Snape nodded and took a sip of tea. This was exactly as awkward as he had feared it would be.

They exchanged some pleasantries about the weather and then fell silent. Snape was waiting for Potter to make the first move, and he had ample practice at waiting for the other to strike first. Not surprisingly Potter soon crumbled.

“Professor - “

“I'm not your professor, Potter,” Snape corrected. Even he was impressed with how steady his voice sounded.

“No. Right. I just – there were some things I wanted to ask you about. About my parents.”

“Naturally,” Snape replied. He had suspected as much. He couldn't imagine what other reason Potter would have for visiting him like this. Though his own reasons for inviting him weren't as clear-cut as he would have liked.

Potter hesitated and Snape waited; time was something he had plenty of.

“Did you really love my mother?” he finally asked. Snape schooled his features even though the question had taken him somewhat by surprise; he had forgotten how abrupt Potter could be. You could say many things about the Boy Who Lived, but he certainly wasn't afraid of causing pain – to himself or to others.

“I thought so, yes,” Snape replied. “Yes.”

Potter nodded and carried on munching at a mince pie. Snape watched him, wondering what was going on his mind, but determined that he would not peek, no matter how tempting.

Potter then completely surprised Snape by asking his opinion on a journal article in the latest edition of Potions Weekly. Although using a pseudonym, it was an article Snape had penned himself.

Snape found himself in an intelligent debate with the boy – young man – before he quite knew what had happened. It was, he had to admit to himself, an enjoyable experience. He hadn't realised quite how lonely he had been these last few days.

Snape made them both another of mug of tea and Potter helped himself to some plum pudding. He took a large bite of the pudding, and his mouth was soon covered in crumbs.

“Here,” Snape said, “you have...” Without thinking he moved forward to swipe at the crumbs and shivered as his fingers touched Potter's mouth. He jumped back as if he were on fire and hurried away into the kitchen. Potter followed him.

“Sir, Severus, it's all right.”

“I'm sorry,” Snape said, “but it's probably best if you leave.”

“I don't want to.”

Snape turned around. “I'm really not interested in what you want Mr Potter.”

“Not even if what I want is you?”

Snape did exactly what he had promised he wouldn’t and dipped his mind into Potter's; Potter put up no resistance.

“See,” Potter said, “I told you.”

They stood staring at each for a long while, long enough for Snape to have come up with a hundred excuses and then discarded each in turn.

“Perhaps some more tea?”

“That's certainly a start,” Potter agreed, and went back into the living room as if it belonged as much to him as it did to Snape.

After a moment, Snape followed.


End file.
